Age of Heroes
by ithirian
Summary: Fate is a tricky business. Kyrie hadn't intended for all of this to happen. She just wanted to see her homeland again. In a moment, Kyrie finds herself wrapped up in events spiraling toward disaster and the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. But even the Dragonborn has her limits. After all, it takes a hero to make a hero. (Contains multiple OCs, language, and SPOILERS!)
1. Chapter 1: Trouble in Skyrim

A cool breeze rustled through the treetops as Kyrie trudged along a small animal trail that wound down from the mountains and into the forest beyond. The wind played at the ends of the young woman's deep red hair which hung about her shoulders, save for a bit on either side of her face which had been pulled away and tied at the back of her head. A scuffed iron sword hung at her hip, clanking lightly as Kyrie walked, but save for the clanking of her sword, the whisper of the wind, and the light patting of feet, no sound broke the stillness of the forest.

For a moment, Kyrie paused, glancing this way and that at her surroundings. That big tree there…hadn't she seen it not too long ago? Or was this a different one? No. This definitely couldn't be the same tree. She glanced around, looking for some other indication that she was still going in the right direction.

"Lost again?" came a voice from just behind her.

The young woman turned to look at her traveling companion: her younger sister, Ayrlyn. The girl looked up at Kyrie through familiar brown eyes so much like her own. The wind that shifted through the trees played at Ayrlyn's dark red hair which was pulled up into a high ponytail. She stood with one hand on her hip, a playful yet exasperated look on her narrow face.

"I'm not lost," Kyrie laughed uneasily, picking up her pace again. "I think…"

Her sister chuckled behind her.

"Just let me know when you want to look at my map," Ayrlyn sighed. "Though I'm beginning to think you just really like going in circles."

Kyrie paused long enough to stick her tongue out at her sister.

"Back at you," Ayrlyn laughed. "Are you certain you're 25?"

"Last I checked," the older girl grinned over her shoulder.

"If you say so."

Again Kyrie laughed, turning her attention back to the trail before her. She was glad to have her sister with her.

It had been years since Kyrie and Ayrlyn set foot in their homeland of Skyrim. Though Nords by blood, the two sisters had spent most of their lives in Cyrodiil, having come to live with some family friends after the deaths of their father and mother during the Great War. But now even that life was becoming a distant memory. Their adoptive father, Albecius, had died in a mining accident a few years earlier, and recently, their adoptive mother, Selvia, had also passed away. With Albecius and Selvia gone, and since the old Imperial couple had no family to speak of, Kyrie and Ayrlyn no longer had any reason to stay in Cyrodiil. And so they had ventured out, hoping to find their long-lost kinsmen in Skyrim.

The trip had been Kyrie's idea. The young woman was a voracious reader and, having recently gotten her hands on a collection of books regarding Skyrim, she had suddenly felt the urge to return to the land in which she had been born. Ayrlyn had been perfectly content in the Imperial City. She had even been talking about joining the Mages' College. However, when Kyrie expressed her decision to return to the land of their forefathers, the younger girl had quietly packed her things and followed along. That was just how Ayrlyn was: gentle, content, loyal, always putting other peoples' interests above her own. Her personality was both her greatest quality and her greatest flaw.

As birds chirped in the trees and small animals darted in and out of the underbrush, Kyrie smiled to herself. Ayrlyn teased her about refusing to look at the map. It was true that Kyrie was stubborn. She liked to do things on her own, without relying on other sources - living or not - to help her out. It was an ego thing, really. But Ayrlyn wasn't entirely wrong when she jokingly said Kyrie liked wandering in circles, because the truth was that Kyrie _did_ like going in circles. At least right now, she did. Having lived in Cyrodiil since she was a child, the young woman had grown accustomed to the warmth of the southern reaches of Tamriel. But Skyrim...there was a spirit about its wild forests and brisk air that made her heart dance. And so she didn't worry about getting to a town right away. They had enough provisions to last several days and no particular destination in mind. There was no reason to rush in their travels.

Kyrie paused as she came to the top a small rise in the path and glanced back at Ayrlyn who came puffing up behind her. Poor Ayrlyn. She wasn't quite as fit as her older sister. Kyrie liked to read, but she also had spent a lot of time training in the hope of one day joining the Imperial Legion. Ayrlyn, though, was little more than a mage. Her strength came in the power of her mind, not in the power of her body.

"Shall we find a place to camp?" Kyrie suggested, noticing for the first time how long the shadows had grown.

"I like that idea," Ayrlyn nodded, bracing her hands on her thighs to catch her breath. "My feet like that idea, too."

"Come on," the older girl urged, turning to continue walking. "I'm sure we'll find a good place to camp before too long."

Again the two young women set off, their attentions turning more and more to the growing darkness in the forest surrounding them. The sun had already slipped over the horizon when the scent of campfire smoke wafted up Kyrie's nose.

"Do you smell that?" she asked, pausing to search for the direction the scent was coming from.

Ayrlyn trotted to her side and glanced around.

"Smoke?"

"Campfire smoke. Maybe there's someone nearby who would be willing to share their camp with us."

Ayrlyn frowned doubtfully but didn't say anything as Kyrie set off in the direction of the smell. A moment later they stepped out into a clearing. There was a crackling fire in the center of the clearing, round, polished river rocks encircling the pit in which the fire was built. An imposing woman sat to one side of the fire, her keen grey eyes watching the dancing flames. She was broad-shouldered and looked to be rather tall, though Kyrie wasn't certain if she actually was that large or if her heavy iron armor was merely creating the illusion of size. A bag of meager provisions rested on the ground on the woman's left while an iron greatsword glittered from where it lay to the woman's right. She glanced up languidly when Kyrie and Ayrlyn appeared.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, glancing between the two. Her voice was deep and nearly as imposing as her looks, though there was no hint of hostility in her tone.

Kyrie blinked, for a moment at a loss for words, then she straightened up and said, "Forgive us for intruding, but we were wondering if we might sit by your campfire. We've been looking for a place to spend the night."

"Why not?" the woman shrugged, motioning for Kyrie and Ayrlyn to take a seat. "There's more than enough room. Stay as long as you like."

"Thank you," Kyrie smiled, glad that the stranger was less imposing in manner than in looks.

"You two look pretty well done in," the stranger mused as Kyrie and Ayrlyn plopped their rucksacks on the ground and took a seat by the fire.

"Just a bit. We've been travelling for a while now," Kyrie replied, stretching her hands out to the flickering flames in front of her.

"Only because you're stubborn and won't look at my map," Ayrlyn mumbled. She had already pulled her map of Skyrim from its place in a satchel she kept slung across her shoulder and was looking at it carefully. "Let's see…this is where we crossed the mountains."

"If you're looking for where we are now, we're just south of Blackwater Crossing," the stranger replied, pulling a bottle of mead from her bag and popping the cork out before taking a big swig.

"Oh! Found it!"

"Directionally challenged, huh?" the woman asked, leaning back on one hand and looking at Kyrie before taking another swig of her mead.

"Well, I haven't been to Skyrim in a while, so you can't really blame me for getting lost," Kyrie laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.

"You got lost in the Imperial City, Kyrie," Ayrlyn responded, not even looking up from her map. "Remember? I had to come find you because Aunt Selvia sent you to buy more flour and four hours later you managed to end up on the opposite side of the city."

"Hey! I was only 13. And I was chasing a cat, so I wasn't paying attention."

"And I was only 8. Plus, you never pay attention to where you're going."

"Do, too."

"Really?"

"Yes…sometimes."

"Uh-huh."

A chuckle escaped the stranger's lips and both Kyrie and Ayrlyn looked up at her curiously.

"I take it you two are related."

"Yeah," Kyrie smiled. "She's my little sister."

"Come to think of it," Ayrlyn added, sitting up straight and looking at the heavily-armored woman sitting across the campfire from them, "we really haven't done proper introductions. I'm Ayrlyn and this is Kyrie. May I ask who you are?"

"Me?" the stranger grinned broadly. "I'm Hara." She jabbed a thumb toward herself. "Hara Bone-breaker, fighter for hire."

"Bone-breaker? That's an awfully scary name to carry."

"In my business, scary works in my favor."

At this, Hara put her mead bottle to her lips and chugged the rest down as if to prove how tough she was.

"Fighter for hire? Are you on a way to a job?" Kyrie inquired, leaning forward eagerly. Maybe Hara could help her find some work to test her sword arm.

"Nah," the woman shrugged, tossing the empty mead bottle back into her bag. "Finished my last job a couple days ago. Haven't been able to find any permanent work in a few months. At least, nothing decent. I've gotten a couple offers from bandits, but while I may walk the line every now and again, I have no intention of completely setting myself against the law just like that."

"Really?" Kyrie frowned. "I thought there'd be plenty of that kind of work around. I heard something about a rebellion before Ayrlyn and I left Cyrodiil."

"Yeah," Hara shrugged. "Jarl Ulfric killed High King Torygg and the whole country has gone to Oblivion ever since. Had something to do with the banning of Talos worship, I think. But I've never had much of a reason to care for politics. Generally speaking, it's bad for business."

"Oh. I see," Kyrie sighed. "While I understand that frustration, is it really necessary to tear the country apart?"

Hara scoffed noticeably.

"The Empire's a bunch of cowards," she huffed. "They're like simpering idiots with their tails between their legs whenever the Thalmor are around, but they won't hesitate to stab their own kinsmen in the back. I may not care for politics, but I have more forgiveness for the Stormcloaks than I do for the Empire. At least the Stormcloaks have some backbone."

As she listened to Hara rant, Kyrie noticed Ayrlyn look up and glance around nervously. Once Hara finished, Kyrie turned to her sister who sat tensely with her map in her lap.

"Ayrlyn?"

"Something doesn't feel right," the younger girl said, her eyes methodically scanning the shadows.

"What do you mean?"

At that moment, however, a shout echoed up from the darkness of the forest and in a moment the trio were surrounded by at least a dozen Imperial soldiers, their swords drawn.

"Three more over here," one shouted over his shoulder.

Already there was the sound of swords clashing and men shouting wildly.

"What in Oblivion?" Hara snapped, her gauntleted hand snatching up the greatsword at her side. She barely had time to jump back before an Imperial sword sang past her face.

"You Stormcloaks won't get away this night!" one of the soldiers shouted, his sword clashing against Hara's.

"Stormcloaks?!" Kyrie exclaimed, drawing her sword and holding it out defensively. "What kind of nonsense is this?!"

Instantly a sword flashed in front of Kyrie's face and she dodged, bringing her sword up to block her attacker as he corrected himself and came in for another swing. From out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ayrlyn as the younger girl sent a sparking arc of electricity toward a nearby soldier. Immediately the soldier turned on the mage, his sword flashing in the light of the campfire.

"Ayrlyn!" Kyrie exclaimed, knocking her opponent's sword away and darting toward her younger sister.

She saw the Imperial lift his sword to strike her sister as a crippling pain struck her shoulder. It was only a fraction of a second that Kyrie remained conscious as she felt her knees give way and her vision turn black.

_What…_ she thought as a dark curtain fell over her mind. _What have I done?_


	2. Chapter 2: Return of a Nightmare

The rattle of a moving wagon rumbled in Kyrie's ears long before she managed to stir her aching muscles and open her eyes. She sat up slowly, flinching and blinking at the sudden burst of light that flooded her vision. When the blurriness faded, the young woman found herself in the back of a wagon driven by an armed imperial soldier. Her sword was gone. Her rucksack was gone. Even her overclothes were gone, leaving her dressed in nothing but the ragged clothes she had been wearing beneath her leather armor. Her hands were bound and rested uncomfortably in her lap.

Memories of the moments before she went unconscious flooded her mind and quickly Kyrie glanced at the other people in the wagons around her. Her heart sank when she failed to spot Ayrlyn and she covered her face with her hands in shame. If only she had been content to stay in Cyrodiil. If only she had told Ayrlyn to stay home. If only...if only...if only...

"Hey! You!"

Kyrie glanced up at the sound of an accented male voice to look at the figure sitting across from her on the wagon. He was a handsome man, dressed in some sort of blue and grey light armor, if it could even be considered armor at all. His hair was a rich blond and hung to just above his shoulders, a strand to the left of his face having been braided.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" he continued. "Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

He motioned with his head toward a dark-haired man in rags sitting at the end of the wagon. The thief flinched and grit his teeth, clenching his fists together when he heard the man speak. Kyrie glanced in the direction the blond indicated before shaking her head.

"I was already across the border," she responded. "What's going on?"

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief bit bitterly, not even giving the blond-haired man the chance to answer Kyrie's question. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

At that the thief turned to look at Kyrie.

"You there," he said. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Kyrie frowned at him doubtfully.

_I shouldn't be here_, she thought. _Not so sure about you_.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the Stormcloak replied slowly, his words laced with venom.

The thief scoffed and looked as though he might have replied to the Stormcloak's words, but he couldn't say anything before the guard driving the wagon threw a fiery glare over his shoulder.

"Shut up back there!" the guard barked before turning back to the uneven road before him.

Kyrie wrinkled her nose at the guard's back.

_Honestly,_ she thought to herself. _What does he think we're going do? Talk him to death? We're already tied up, and it's not like we're plotting escape. What's wrong with talking? Horker._

A rueful chuckle escaped the thief's lips and he turned toward the man sitting across from him, who was dressed in fine clothes and sitting stone still. This other man had been gagged, but he looked out on the world through a pair of keen eyes. There was a nobility, a pride about him, and Kyrie wondered if he was a nobleman of some sort.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief said.

Immediately the Stormcloak sitting across from Kyrie stiffened.

"Watch your tongue!" the blond commanded, his voice sharp and warning. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the _true_ High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" the thief questioned, obviously startled. He turned to the one called Ulfric. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you...oh gods! Where are they taking us?"

Kyrie could hear panic rising in the thief's voice. Quietly she glanced down the sloping road as it curved around the forest trees. True high king? Rebellion? Ambush? The thief's panicked voice caused a lump to form in the young woman's throat as the realization of what was going on finally struck her.

_It sounds as though I'm in a bit of trouble,_ Kyrie laughed inwardly. _Just my luck._

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," the Stormcloak replied solemnly.

The young woman felt as though her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach.

_Oh. Bloody. Oblivion._

"No! This can't be happening. This isn't happening!" the thief exclaimed, covering his face with his hands.

Kyrie could feel a shiver run down her spine. A fool. She had been a bloody fool. How could she have ignored the rumors of rebellion? Of course, who would have guessed that the imperials would have marked her as a rebel. And as she glanced around at the other people in the wagons that rumbled down the road, this question began to grow bigger in Kyrie's mind. She didn't look anything like a Stormcloak. If nothing else, she certainly didn't have the Stormcloak armor. She could feel herself relax slightly. It had been dark the night before and the imperials had been eager to catch the rebels. All she had to do was explain her situation and she should be able to go free. She didn't doubt that the Empire had its sights set on the thief, but Kyrie had done nothing wrong. Surely they would let _her_ go.

As she looked at the people in the other wagons, Kyrie spotted Hara, who had also been stripped of her armor and weapon. It was strange, but the dark-haired woman seemed to look more imposing now than she had in her armor. There was a menacing expression on her face as she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs and her chin in her bound hands. Her right foot tapped impatiently against the wood floor of the wagon in which she sat, and Kyrie couldn't help but wonder if it would be dangerous to release the woman now. She had a look in her eye that was absolutely murderous.

Just then, the Stormcloak in front of Kyrie began to speak and the young woman glanced back over to the people immediately in her wagon.

"Hey...what village are you from, horse thief?" the Stormcloak questioned. His tone was decidedly softer than it had been before.

"Why do you care?" the thief responded bitterly.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," the Stormcloak replied, his voice laden with emotion.

The thief paused. His voice was choked when he at last spoke.

"Rorikstead," he said. "I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

_Home…_ Kyrie thought. Did she even know what "home" was anymore? The thought of Ayrlyn crossed her mind and she choked back a sob. Without her sister, could she ever call any place home again?

By this point, the first signs of a village could be seen down the path. A moment later, the wagon turned a corner. Kyrie could now see a village spreading out before her, with high stone walls and wood-framed buildings.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting," a nearby guard called to a man in fancy imperial regalia.

"Good. Let's get this over with," the one called General Tullius replied.

A wave of panic swept over Kyrie when the general's words caught her ears. She swallowed and clenched her fists, trying to stay calm.

_Now, now,_ Kyrie thought sarcastically, trying to keep herself from allowing her fear, and anger, and sadness to overtake her. _Let's all keep our heads, please._ She paused at this thought. _Oh my. That was bad._

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines please help me!" the thief exclaimed.

The Stormcloak seemed to have his own way of facing his death.

"Look at him!" he said, pure venom dripping from every word he spoke. "General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves! I bet they had something to do with this!"

He paused for a moment as he glanced around at the village, then a sad expression crossed his face.

"Ahhh, this is Helgen," the Stormcloak sighed, a sense of longing creeping into his voice. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny. When I was a boy, imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

_Me, too,_ Kyrie thought with a sigh. She glanced around at the large group of prisoners in the wagons in front of her. _No trial. No discretion between the guilty and the innocent. Just the headsman. Is this really how Skyrim has become? Is this really what the _Empire_ has become? I didn't realize head-lobbing was a sport._

"Who are they, Daddy? Where are they going?" came the sound of a young boy's voice.

Kyrie turned to see a boy of about 8 or 9 standing off to the side of the road. She watched as the man near him urged him toward one of the houses.

"You need to go inside," the father said.

"Why? I wanna watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

Kyrie stiffened as the wagon began to slow to a stop.

"Yes, Papa," she heard the boy reply.

Youth and all its innocence. Kyrie could only wonder what would become of Skyrim...what would become of the Empire...if this sort of action continued. What would happen to the children who would grow up under the rule of a government so unjust as the one she now faced? Had she really ever aspired to become one of them? The thought immediately morphed her lingering fear into a sense of hatred and she shuddered slightly as a wave of anger washed over her body and spirit. Quietly she lifted her head toward the imperial guards. If she had to die, she hoped that her death would mean something. But even if it didn't, she would go to Sovngarde with courage.

_And then I'll come back and haunt you 'till you're curled in the fetal position crying for your mothers, you sons of bitches, _she grinned to herself. Actually, she wasn't sure she could do that, but it made her feel better all the same.

Just then the wagon pulled to a stop in front of a stone wall.

"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief asked, looking around with wide, frightened eyes.

"Why do you think?" the Stormcloak replied. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief."

"You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

Kyrie watched as the thief and Ulfric Stormcloak reluctantly stepped out of the wagon before following suit. Already several imperial soldiers had gathered in front of them. One, a woman with strong, square shoulders and a sour expression on her face, was dressed in high-grade armor; the one standing beside her, a man of roughly Kyrie's own age or possibly slightly older, was clad in regular armor. He held a list in hand and stood attentively waiting for orders.

"Step toward the block when we call your name," the female soldier barked harshly. Kyrie assumed she was the guard captain. "One at a time!"

A sigh escaped the Stormcloak's lips and Kyrie glanced over at him.

"Empire loves their damn lists."

The guard in regular armor lifted his list and began to read.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Kyrie watched as the man with the gag in his mouth stepped forward. He still couldn't speak aloud, but his eyes spoke for him. He was proud and he was defiant. There was no fear in those eyes.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the Stormcloak said solemnly.

The Jarl paused only briefly, closing his eyes and nodding slightly in recognition of his comrade's words.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The Stormcloak stepped forward, his posture as proud and strong as that of the Jarl. One corner of Kyrie's mouth twitched up in a half smile. If it were possible to come back and haunt people after death, she would make sure to find Ralof and Jarl Ulfric and add them to her list of haunting buddies. There was certainly retribution to be paid.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief, who stood in front of Kyrie, jumped slightly when he heard his name called.

"No! I'm not a rebel!" he exclaimed. "You can't do this!"

Kyrie's mouth dropped slightly as she watched the one called Lokir bolt past the guards, back up the trail in the direction they had come.

"Halt!" the guard captain shouted.

_Oh, yes, halt! I only want to chop your head off. I can't think of any possible reason you would feel like running away,_ Kyrie thought sarcastically.

"You're not gonna kill me!" Lokir shouted back.

Kyrie's eyelids dropped slightly in an I-can't-believe-you-really-just-said-that look. _Famous last words_, she thought to herself.

"Archers!"

The young woman watched as an archer put an arrow to her bow and loosed it at the escaping prisoner. The thief fell dead, the arrow in his back.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the guard captain asked menacingly.

_Ass. You're the first one I'm coming back for._

The guard with the list grimaced slightly, then turned back to Kyrie.

"Wait. You there, step forward. Who are you?" he asked.

_The bitch that's going to come back from Sovngarde and eat your soul for breakfast,_ Kyrie thought to herself.

"Kyrie," the young woman replied stiffly. "Originally from Solitude."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman," the guard said, his voice tinged with regret. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

His voice almost sounded hopeful, as though perhaps he was going to try to get Kyrie out of a death sentence if at all possible.

_Ok, fine. You're not so bad. I won't eat your soul. I've got bigger fish to fry._

"Forget the list. She goes to the block," the captain responded curtly.

_You, bitch, are one of those bigger fish._

"By your orders, Captain," the guard responded. He turned to look at Kyrie. "I'm sorry. But at least you'll die here, in your homeland. Follow the captain, prisoner."

_Oh, sure. That's comforting._

Kyrie frowned at him as she turned in the direction the guard had indicated. He was probably as helpless as she was when it came to the guard captain's decisions, so she found it hard to hold it against him.

_Still, though,_ she thought as she lined up with the other prisoners. _You picked the wrong job, buddy._

Just then Kyrie felt someone elbow her arm and she glanced up to see Hara. For the first time, the young woman noticed how truly imposing Hara was. Kyrie wasn't short, but the other woman must have stood a good three or four inches above her. Her shoulders were broad and square and her arms rippled with muscle. She looked every bit the Nord she was.

"I think your sister made it," Hara said softly, her eyes focused on General Tullius as the man stepped toward Ulfric Stormcloak.

Kyrie's heart leaped slightly at Hara's words. Hope. There was still hope for Ayrlyn. It was a comfort, at least, since it was Kyrie's own foolishness that had gotten her sister in that mess to begin with.

Quickly Kyrie glanced around at the prisoners crowding around her. There were others here who didn't look like Stormcloaks. A girl with braided, jet black hair stood off to one side, quivering in fear. She didn't even look to be as old as Ayrlyn, though Kyrie couldn't exactly place her age. There was also an elf in the mix, possibly a Bosmer though her skin was exceptionally fair and, aside from some facial features and the pointed ears, she really didn't look much like an elf at all. Kyrie couldn't help but wonder what had landed these two in the same predicament as herself and Hara.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," came General Tullius's voice. Kyrie glanced back at the Imperial. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Kyrie stood a little straighter at this comment. Voice? Murder? What was the general talking about?

Ulfric grunted bitterly in reply.

"You started this war," the general continued, "plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

_Peace?_ Kyrie thought bitterly. _You mean the kind of peace that allows you to execute innocent people without a fair trial? Oh, yes. That sounds like a great plan to me._

All of a sudden a distant roar split the still air and several of the guards glanced around nervously.

"What was that?" the guard with the list questioned.

"It's nothing," General Tullius replied. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" the guard captain chimed.

Kyrie huffed slightly. _You are such a lapdog._

"Give them their last rites," the captain continued, turning to a robe-clad priestess standing just beyond the rugged chopping block and ominous, ax-wielding headsman.

The priestess nodded, then lifted her arms and began, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight Divines upon you."

_You're about to chop my bloody head off,_ Kyrie thought. _Like Oblivion, I want your blessing._

It seemed Kyrie wasn't the only one put off by the priestess's showy act, for immediately one of the Stormcloak prisoners stepped forward.

"Nirn our beloved-" the priestess continued.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" the man snapped, stomping over to the chopping block.

"As you wish," the priestess huffed, turning away.

Kyrie couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" the Stormcloak growled.

He gave the guards around him one more fiery glare before turning to the chopping block. For a moment he paused, staring at the scarred stone before him. Then one of the guards pressed him down until his head rested on the stone.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, imperials. Can you say the same?"

Kyrie watched with growing trepidation as the headsman raised his ax. Shouts of "You Imperial bastards!" mingled with "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!" Then..._thwack!_

Kyrie flinched slightly and averted her eyes as the ax came down on the Stormcloak's neck. It was one thing to have a fair chance in a fight. It was another thing to think, _That's going to be my head and I can't do a damn thing about it._

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof sighed.

Kyrie glanced over at the man next to her. Yes. Fearless, indeed. She wasn't sure she could match up to that, but she'd certainly try.

"Next, the Nord in the rags," the guard captain called, pointing at Kyrie.

The young woman drew in a deep breath. She could feel her legs trembling beneath her. Though it was hard to believe right now, she knew that death by beheading was probably one of the better fates she could have met. After all, it would be quick and painless. Small comfort that was.

All of a sudden, another roar split the still mountain air. It was louder this time, and Kyrie glanced around at the sky. It wasn't like any roar she had ever heard before, and it sounded as though it were coming from above. Of course, that was unlikely. Only birds could fly, and there were no birds that she could think of that could make a sound quite like that. No, it must have been her imagination, a sound from the mountain that only seemed to have come from the air. But still… A chill ran up and down her spine and it felt like her blood ran cold through her veins. Was she simply afraid of death, or was it something else?

"There it is again," the guard with the list said, also glancing up into the sky. "Did you hear that?"

"I said next prisoner!" the guard captain shouted.

The guard with the list gave his captain a bewildered stare, then turned back to Kyrie.

"To the block, Prisoner. Nice and easy."

_Ass,_ Kyrie thought as she sighed and stepped forward. She came to a stop before the guard, then turned to the chopping block and laid down on her side, staring up at the headsman above her. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but she kept her gaze steady. She wanted to look her killer in the face before she died. She would remember him in the afterlife.

As the headsman began to raise his ax, however, a dark form swooped down from the sky. At first Kyrie couldn't believe her eyes. Her blood began to burn like fire in her veins and she wanted nothing more than to jump up, but her body itself felt paralyzed by the visage before her. Another roar split the still mountain air as the black form soared toward the people gathered around the chopping block.

It couldn't possibly be! But then, Kyrie had read enough books to know what she was seeing. That reptilian body...those shimmering scales like plated iron...those leathery, outstretched wings and pale ivory teeth like rows of new-sharpened daggers...there was only one thing that could be: a dragon!


End file.
